The fact that my old guild is second right now just makes me work even harder. Maybe too hard, since I’m not getting more than three or four hours of sleep a night. But I don’t want to deal with their shit at the tournament—and more importantly, I don’t want the team to deal with their shit.

I always knew the Cyclones were a talented group, but they’re genuinely good people, too. And fun to be around. Everyone works hard, but we all make time for relaxation. Playing games together in the rec room, having movie nights in each other’s bedrooms, raiding the kitchen in the middle of the night for an impromptu sundae party—usually organized by Jax.

The fact that Coach Singh makes everyone sit down and eat dinner together helps, too. I honestly never had this growing up. My dad was always at work, and my mom didn’t care about my day or anything else I had to say, so I ate in my room, hunched over my computer, and she ate… I don’t know. At her boyfriend’s apartment, probably.

But at the Cyclones’ house, we all sit down at seven—no exceptions. Sometimes a chef cooks for us, other times we take turns making meals. Coach Singh made some amazing curry tonight, and Zed’s got a massive pot of chili that’s going to slow cook overnight and all day tomorrow. It already smells amazing, and my stomach growls as the spices come through the vents.

“Do I need to feed you soon? Are you going to start getting hangry?”

Finn sits beside me, at the large IKEA desk Coach Singh ordered for us earlier in the week. We’ve been working together every night, trying to get down the timing of a certain fight and doing the trials Estalia Online put in for tanks just so we can both get the special item that’ll make 0.001% of a difference—enough that it matters.

“I’m always hangry,” I tell him, then swear under my breath as I botch the move I need to do to progress to the next level in the trial. “God dammit. Why am I so fucking slow that I can’t do this?”

“You’re not slow,” Finn says, “you’re just not used to it.”

“We’ve been trying to do this for two days, Finny. I’m apparently too fucking stupid to get past silver rank.”

The words just come out automatically. I don’t even think about them. And I wouldn’t, because everybody puts themselves down. Or that’s what I thought. The way Finn is looking at me right now is making me question that.

“You’re not stupid,” he says firmly.

“I know, but—”

“Dude, I’ve been struggling with the exact same thing. We’ll get it down. It’s just going to take more time. Now are you gonna run it again, or am I going to have to give you something else to do?”

There’s a flirtatious lilt to his voice, and his eyes spark with a sudden heat as I look at him. We’ve been good these past few days—mostly. There’ve been a few late nights where we couldn’t keep from fooling around. But we haven’t had time for anything more than hand jobs and blowjobs, and as much as I love having his dick in my mouth, I’m hungry for more.

“Yeah? You gonna give it to me?” I ask with a teasing grin. “Still waiting to be impressed.”

Finn laughs and shoves me affectionately. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Yeah, but I know you’d love to bend me over this desk and fuck me right now,” I say in a low voice.

My dick twitches in my jeans, and I don’t bother to conceal myself as I lower my hand and squeeze it through the fabric. Finn’s gaze follows me and he licks his lips, sending a little thrill through me.

As confident as I can be, it’s still a fucking wonder to me that he wants me as much as I want him.

“Actually I was thinking about you propping me up against the side of the bed and fucking me while I’m upside down,” he says, somehow able to look gravely serious talking about some tantric porn position.

And why the hell not? Now that he’s put the idea out there, I’m thinking about it, too. Standing over him, my thighs burning as I have to crouch while fucking him. I give my dick another squeeze, and lick my own lips.

“Break for an hour?” I ask, barely able to keep the growl of lust out of my voice.

He answers by sliding his hand behind my neck and pulling me to him for a hungry kiss. I open for him, sucking his tongue into my mouth. As soon as I start working on his shirt, though, my phone rings with the distinct tone I’ve saved for my dad.

I break the kiss and look at it sitting there on the desk, as if it’s going to tell me something different.

“Ignore it,” Finn says, drawing my earlobe into his mouth and reaching past my thigh to massage my cock through my jeans.

“Oh, fuck,” I moan, and turn my head to catch his mouth with mine again, planning to do just that.

He climbs onto my lap, grinding his ass against my erection as we kiss, his arms wrapped around my neck. I run my hands over his back, feeling the lean muscle beneath his shirt, focusing on more than just the most obvious sensations.

As I move my mouth down his jaw, my phone rings again.

I know my dad’s pissed I didn’t make that meeting, but I told him I couldn’t. The last thing I want to do is let him talk me into another one. But the fact that he’s not leaving it alone nags at me. Maybe there’s something wrong. Maybe Mom’s sick. Not that she’d ever call Dad about it—even if she were on her deathbed—but the thought is enough to pull me right out of the mood.

“I have to take this,” I say, giving him an apologetic look.

“Don’t worry about it.” He brushes his lips over mine so gently, so sweetly that I just sit there staring at him as he slides off of me.

Then I grab my phone and steel myself for a conversation I don’t want to have instead of thinking about the confusing feelings I’m catching for Finn.

“What do you want, Dad?”

“Please hold for Mr. Winthrop,” Gina, his secretary, says.

I roll my eyes skyward. “Are you fucking kidding me.”

After a few moments of hold music during which I’m flipping off my phone, my dad finally graces this conversation with his presence.

“James, you and I need to talk.”

“Pretty sure that’s what we’re doing right now,” I mutter.

“No, you don’t get to make jokes,” he says, his tone completely devoid of emotion. “Since you want to play at being an adult, I’m going to treat you like one.”

“That’ll be a first.”

“As an adult, I expect you to get results; to make the most of your name and not simply rely on me to pay your way while you screw around.”

Is he fucking serious? Maybe I’ve needed to borrow some money in the past, and maybe a couple of my bills are still on one of his many credit cards, but I’m making a salary now. I can pay my own way. And I sure as hell haven’t asked him for anything.

“I’ll check all my automatic payments tomorrow and make sure they’re coming out of my account,” I tell him, but he just rolls right over me.

“If you can match the salary you would make here—with commissions—then I won’t approach you about working for me again.”

I sit back in my seat, floored by that. “Seriously? All I have to do is pay my way and you’ll leave me alone?”

“Oh, don’t mistake me, James.” I can hear him tap an ashtray. No one’s supposed to smoke in his building, but he’s never paid attention to that rule. “I fully expect you to fail, just like you have in everything else. It seems to be your defining trait.”

He’s said as much before, but his words cut deeper this time. Maybe it’s because Finn’s sitting right here, watching me with concern. I know he can’t hear, but I still don’t want him to somehow catch my dad’s ideas.

“Okay, well, if you’re done with the pep talk, I have shit to do—”

“Eight thousand a month,” he says, cutting me off. “Make that, and you’ll have done more on your own than what I can do for you. Otherwise, you come back to Atlanta and accept your cushy position and premium salary.”

“You realize normal people don’t make that fucking much, right?”

I can feel my emotions running high. This is what he does. He sets the bar somewhere up in the stratosphere so it’s absolutely impossible for me to reach it. Just a little research would have shown him what I make right now with the Cyclones. Even if we win every tournament from now until the end of the year, I won’t make that much a month.

“If you’d like to admit you’re wasting my time and yours, I can have Gina book you the next flight.”

There’s no smugness in his voice; no meanness. Somehow that’s worse. He just assumes he’s right, and that what he’s doing to me is what needs to be done. Because I’m such a fuck-up, and I’d never make it without him.

“Fuck you, Dad,” I say before hanging up.

That urge to be anywhere else fills me again. I just want to leave. Run. Work myself so hard I can’t move, let alone think about what a piece of shit I am. But I can’t do any of that, because Finn’s sitting right here, looking at me.

Waiting for me to say something.

"You okay?" he asks softly.

His light green eyes are filled with concern that I've come to realize is genuine. Concern for me. But as I look into them, all I can think is that I'm not worth taking a chance on. Not by my parents. Not by Finn. Not by anyone.

"Nah," I say truthfully, but I can't seem to force out any words beyond that.

There's conflict in his features. I can tell he wants to say something, but he's not sure what. So instead of talking, he leans forward and brushes his lips over mine again, just as tenderly as before. Then he does it again. And again. And while I can feel my blood running hot and my body responding, my mind is someplace else.

Someplace dark.

This is a pity fuck, a voice inside me says. He doesn't actually want you. Nobody wants you.

When he realizes I'm not responding like I should be, he stops immediately, sitting back in his chair. His brows are drawn up, and I can't tell if he's hurt, or worried. My brain assures me it's the former, and that I caused it.

"Sorry," I say quietly, wanting to just disappear.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he tells me. Then, after a long pause, "What did your dad say?"

I let out a humorless laugh. What did my dad say? The same thing he always says. But I know Finn doesn't need to hear attitude from me. He has no idea what my dad's like, outside of my reactions to him. It's on me to say something, or just act like an adult and handle my shit on my own.

I consider doing that. Shouldering the burden like I've always done. Lots of people have shitty parents, right? But the more I sit there, the more I need to know if my dad's right. If I'm just a waste of space.

"He basically gave me an ultimatum," I explain, then launch into it, full-on. The amount he wants me to make, what I'm supposed to be doing at his company, and the fact that he's never given a shit about what I want.

"Nothing I ever do is good enough," I say, after already monopolizing the conversation. "I don't think it even registers on his radar. I'm just his fuck-up son who can't do anything for himself."

"Hey." Finn's tone is firm, and when I look at him I see an intensity in his green eyes. "Nothing's been handed to you, Ryker. You're one of the hardest working people I've ever met. You're smart, resourceful, passionate, talented. You got the spot on this team because you're the best person for it, in every way."

I blow out a breath, my lips curving in a wry smirk. "My probationary spot."

"Oh, please. Coach Singh can't stop talking about how good you are, and how nice it is to have you in the house. Everybody on the team loves you. You're a shoe-in. There's no way the position won't be permanent."

I want to believe it. My heart swells just hearing it. But that voice is still there in the back of my head.

"Until I have another tantrum like a five-year-old," I mutter.

"You lash out when you're feeling insecure," Finn says it like it's a fucking fact. And... it is. "I get that now. I thought it was just you being an asshole, but... it's a mask."

A mask. I look at him, look into his eyes, and feel suddenly exposed. Everyone's always taken me at face value. I was the class clown, or the rich jerk, or the arrogant elitist. But now this man is saying he sees me. And that's as terrifying as it is exhilarating.

"What about you...?" I ask tentatively, realizing after a moment that he probably has no idea where my thoughts went. "What do you think of me, Finn? Because I think you're too fucking good for me. All the stuff you do for the community, the fact that you even gave me the time of day after how I treated you, the way you just shrug it off when people throw shit your way." He opens his mouth, but I keep going. "You're too good for me, but I want you anyway. Not just to fool around with, but... for everything. I don't even know what the fuck that means, and you probably think I've lost my mind, but--"

"Will you shut up for one second?" The warm smile on Finn's face stops me dead in my tracks. His hands frame my face, thumbs sliding over my cheeks, and he leans in to kiss me. "You're a good guy, Ryker. I didn't see it at first, but I see it now. And... I would've gladly just fooled around with you if that's what you wanted, but I was hoping you'd want more."

He kisses me again, slow and sensual, and I let myself get lost in it, shutting out all of those doubts. My heart squeezes in my chest, and I finally let myself feel all those things I've kept shoved down. I kiss him back, pouring all of those bottled-up emotions into it. For as much as we've kissed, there's something different in it now, and it's intoxicating.

When we're finally forced to break for air, he says, "I'll help you make up the difference. In that eight grand, I mean. We can do it if we get your stream more subscribers."

I smile at him and let out a soft laugh, feeling a little shy for the first time in my life. It's really fucking weird, but... not unpleasant. "Yeah. Okay. But maybe we can do that tomorrow? There are other ways I want to spend tonight."

I stand from my chair and hold my hand out to him. Our computers are still running the game, but it's not important right now, to either of us. Finn takes my hand and I pull him to me, wrapping my arms around him and holding him close, sharing emotions through a kiss that I've never shared with anyone else--not like this.

Tomorrow we can deal with all the responsibilities and everything else that's waiting for us. Tonight I just want to be with him, and enjoy the fact that--by some crazy fucking miracle--he feels the same way I do.